After graduating from university, I naturally joined a fairly large chain restaurant as a full-time staff member.
If there's anything particularly eye-catching about me, it's probably this rather handsome face that heaven has blessed me with. I have a clean, sharp jawline, a pair of peach-blossom eyes that seem slightly misty when I smile, and a tall, slender figure. My friends say that even in the plain staff uniform, I still look good. During peak lunch and dinner hours, quite a few young customers come specifically for me. I know they deliberately choose my section, and countless people have privately asked for my contact information or hinted at pursuing me.
Yet, facing all these admiring and affectionate gazes, I never felt the slightest bit of interest.
My friends love to joke about my love life in private. Once at a gathering, my best friend hooked his arm around my neck and laughed loudly: "So many good-looking people like you, but you don't like any of them. The ones you do like all seem pretty ordinary. You're basically into 'ugly' guys, aren't you?"
Every time I hear that, I just smile helplessly and reply, "You're the ugly one!"
To me, the people I've liked may not be mainstream society's preference, but in my heart, they truly represent male charm. However, what really makes me keep romance and relationships at arm's length is the heavy, crushing mountain of reality on my shoulders—financial pressure.
My family was never complete. After my parents divorced when I was young, I lacked support. Graduating from university meant I had to be completely independent. Worse, my hometown would occasionally send text messages urging me for money. Every month, as soon as my salary hits the account, after deducting rent, utilities, and food expenses, and sending some money home, the remaining amount is pitifully small. In such a tight situation where I'm barely supporting myself, how could I have the luxury to talk about romance?
"I need to find a part-time job..." I sighed countless times lying in bed in my shabby rental at midnight, staring at the mottled ceiling. But my full-time job schedule is already exhausting enough. Adding delivery gigs or late-night convenience store shifts would eventually break my body. I had no idea what else I could do.
Until one time, I had dinner with some university friends. During the meal, everyone enthusiastically discussed the Vtuber trend that has swept the internet in recent years.
"Individual Vtubers are making good money these days, especially those with specific themes," one friend said while chewing meat.
Another friend suddenly turned to me and joked, "Hey, seriously, your voice is so nice—deep and magnetic. You sound like you're doing voice acting even in normal conversation. Why don't you give it a try? Maybe you'll blow up!"
This casual joke was like a match that unexpectedly ignited the long-dried hope in my heart.
After returning home from dinner, I sat in front of my computer and researched all night. Vtuber, individual creator, ASMR, motion capture... these unfamiliar terms gradually became real. I looked at the earnings of channels that specialized in voice companionship and simulated whispers, then lowered my head to check the meager savings in my bank account.
"Let's give it a shot. How will I know if I don't try?" After thinking for a long time, I gritted my teeth and made up my mind.
The following week, I spent all my savings from part-time jobs on a basic condenser microphone and audio interface. I also found an entry-level illustrator and rigger online to commission an extremely simple low-end "model."
It was a boy with gray wolf ears and a slightly innocent look. Because of my limited budget, the motion capture on this model was very basic—it could only blink following the computer camera or make slight mouth and body movements while speaking.
But what else could I do? I decided to try it anyway.
Once prepared, my nighttime life officially began. Every time I finished work at the restaurant, after a quick shower at the dorm, I would sit in front of the computer, put on headphones, and transform into the wolf-eared boy behind the screen.
At first, reality was cruel. The stream often had only single-digit viewers, and the chat was so quiet I could only hear my own breathing.
But I didn't give up. Though there were only a few viewers, through their compliments I discovered I had a natural talent for "voice acting."
When I deliberately softened my voice, brought my lips close to the microphone, and murmured in a gentle, breathy tone, even I would get goosebumps from the tingling sensation piercing my eardrums.
Gradually, thanks to my excellent voice and delicate sense of companionship, my stream started gaining some popularity.
Though not yet a huge hit, several hundred fans now regularly waited for my streams every night. The occasional donations also gave me tangible returns for my efforts.
That afternoon, the atmosphere inside the chain restaurant was unusually tense.
I was wearing an apron in the back, restocking tableware, when the manager suddenly rushed in, sweating, clapping his hands and shouting, "Everyone, move faster! We just got notice that the general manager will personally inspect our store soon! Everyone start cleaning immediately—wipe all tables, chairs, and corners in the front again. Fix any crooked uniforms right away!"
The manager's tone was full of anxiety. As low-level staff, we naturally didn't dare slack off. I quickly put down what I was doing, grabbed a cloth, and joined my colleagues in a thorough cleaning of the store.
About two hours later, during the afternoon tea lull, the welcome bell at the entrance rang.
I instinctively looked toward the checkout counter. A man in a well-fitted suit walked in. Surprisingly, this executive looked quite ordinary—around thirty, approaching middle age, slightly overweight, with extremely average features. He looked like any typical salaryman uncle you might see on the street.
Just as I thought, "Is that him? He actually has some charm," the manager, as if seeing an emperor, smiled broadly and strode forward to greet him: "Good afternoon, General Manager! Welcome to inspect!" Behind the suited man followed the obsequious regional manager and several assistants.
I withdrew my gaze. A colleague quietly leaned over, bumped my shoulder, and whispered, "Hey, did you know? This general manager is actually the big boss's biological son—a real restaurant second-generation heir."
"Oh..." I replied perfunctorily, continuing to organize receipts and cash summaries from the morning shift. To me, no matter whose son he was, as long as he didn't cause trouble for the frontline staff, it was fine.
But my colleague's gossip soul was burning hot. Mysteriously, he added, "And... I heard his 'thing' is huge!"
Hearing this, my hands sorting receipts paused. My brows furrowed involuntarily. I turned to my colleague in confusion: "...How do you know that?"
My colleague chuckled twice, his voice even lower: "The manager said so! Apparently, once when the manager and the general manager went to the headquarters men's restroom together, the manager accidentally glanced over... They say the size is shocking. Looking at his face, you'd never guess!"
At that moment, a hidden switch deep inside me seemed to be triggered. I couldn't help but look up again, my gaze crossing the counter to land on the general manager who was listening to the manager's report.
Unexpectedly, while listening, the general manager seemed to sense something and suddenly looked up without warning. Our eyes briefly met in the air.
The general manager's eyes flickered for a moment, then he casually looked away, nodding as he followed the group toward the kitchen for inspection.
"Alright, stop gossiping. Get back to work," I said to my colleague, though my heartbeat inexplicably quickened. As a low-level employee, I just needed to return to my post and do my job.
Half an hour later, the inspection reached the important "service test" phase. The general manager wanted to personally experience the ordering, serving, and complaint-handling processes to evaluate staff training. Since I had always been the store's face—my appearance and service attitude rated the best by customers—the manager unhesitatingly assigned me as the representative to interact one-on-one with the general manager.
"Good afternoon, General Manager. This is our seasonal recommended single-person set meal..."
Standing by the table, using the increasingly steady and pleasant voice I had trained through streaming, I smoothly introduced the dishes. The subsequent checkout, change-making, and serving processes were all flawless.
At the end of the test, the general manager sat in his seat, took the receipt I handed over, and that should have been the end. But he didn't get up immediately. Instead, he stared meaningfully at my face and slowly spoke in a slightly hoarse voice: "Your voice... is really nice. Clear and magnetic... It really suits being the restaurant's face."
This sudden, direct compliment made my heart skip a beat. After working at the restaurant for so long, people usually praised my appearance, but rarely did anyone focus on complimenting my voice with such attention.
"Ah... Thank you, General Manager." My cheeks flushed slightly, and I found myself at a loss.
"Good work. Keep it up." The general manager stood up, extended his thick hand to pat my arm encouragingly, then left.
Though it might have been my imagination, the general manager's hand lingered on my arm longer than a typical superior's polite touch. Before withdrawing, his broad palm even seemed to gently squeeze my arm...
I stood there stunned, watching the general manager's retreating back, a strange heat rising in my chest.
Of course, I was probably just overthinking. I shook my head and returned to my busy work.
In the days that followed, my life became extremely busy.
By day, I was a full-time restaurant staff member serving customers. At night, I dragged my exhausted body to the computer to maintain several hours of high-quality ASMR streams. As time passed, my donation income increased somewhat, but the dual physical and mental fatigue also brought an unprecedented "growth bottleneck."
Looking at my crude wolf-ear model, which couldn't capture hand movements or make delicate expressions, many times the emotional intent I wanted to convey through voice appeared stiff on screen.
"Maybe... I need a better omnidirectional binaural microphone and my own detailed 2D model to break through?" I pondered late at night after ending stream.
But high-end ASMR equipment and detailed custom models cost tens or even hundreds of thousands. For a part-timer who still sends money home every month, that was an astronomical sum.
"Should I take out a loan? Or invest more? What if I lose everything...?"
I sat in front of the computer streaming, verbally responding to donation comments, but mentally wondering whether to increase investment. Just as I was extremely anxious,
The entire stream screen suddenly went black without warning—not a blackout, but the platform's exclusive prelude for top-tier large donations!
**【Clang——!】**
A crisp, crystal-clear sound effect rang in my ears. A 3D special effect of "Eight-foot Jade Fireworks" suddenly appeared on screen. Then, a magnificent castle built from countless pink and purple crystals, with an extremely gorgeous animation, dominated the entire screen for ten full seconds!
Accompanying it was the system's emotionless robotic voice, now sounding incredibly clear:
> **"Ding dong! Thank you, user 'User_9588' for a super donation: $10000, with the message: 'Go buy a better microphone, I like listening to your voice.'"**
$10000.
I was instantly stunned, my mouse-holding hand frozen in midair, my mind blank. The system's reading voice still echoed in my headphones. The chat had already gone completely wild. Free viewers and old fans' messages scrolled up at blinding speed:
'Holy shit! $10000?!'
'Sugar daddy kneel!'
'Where did this big shot come from? Dropping $10000 right away?!'
'Streamer, call him daddy!!!'
However, my world was silent. I had no mind to care what the chat was spamming. My heart pounded wildly, my breathing rapid.
After what felt like a long half-minute, I snapped back to reality. Well-versed in stream effects, I immediately used the softest, sweetest, most coquettish breathy voice I could muster, pressing my lips almost against the microphone's pop filter, and murmured stickily:
"Th... thank you, big brother~~ You're the best... Mm... Big brother, what do you want to hear? I'll read it to you alone every day, okay?"
This bone-melting coquettish tone, paired with my naturally excellent voice, caused another massive explosion in the chat:
'Aaaah! This voice is killing me!'
'I'm about to cum after hearing this!!'
'Help, this wet mouth sound is so lewd! I'm gonna shoot!'
However, the mysterious account 'User_9588' that had dropped $10000 in one go left no further messages after the 10,000-dollar nuclear bomb. The chat was on fire, but his avatar remained gray at the top of the leaderboard, so silent that I even started imagining, "Did he accidentally press the wrong amount? Is he looking at the bill regretting it now?"
Regardless, after platform fees, this enormous sum was indeed deposited into my account.
With this money, my financial pressure was devastatingly relieved. The first thing I did was upgrade all my equipment as requested by the big shot.
I switched to the Neumann KU 100 binaural microphone that countless streamers dream of, and found top-tier artists and riggers to custom-make a high-end Live2D model just for me.
It was a refined boy with slightly pointed wolf ears and watery puppy-dog eyes.
This time, the detailed capture system made my expressions incredibly vivid during streams—every blink and tongue movement synced perfectly, even accurately detecting hand movements stroking my cheek to complement my voice full of sensuality and companionship.
Thus, my fan count truly exploded because of this equipment upgrade.
As my part-time income grew, my quality of life slowly improved. I no longer needed to work exhausting shifts at the restaurant every day. So I applied to the manager to reduce my restaurant shifts, keeping only some full-time hours to focus more energy on creating.
With a slower pace of life, I began trying to regain the healthy running habit I had in university.
Early morning, sunlight just pierced through the thin mist onto the park greenery near my rental. Wearing a fitted black athletic sweat-wicking shirt and shorts, I jogged along the park path.
As I ran, a middle-aged man walking a sturdy yellow Labrador came toward me. From afar, his figure seemed familiar. I couldn't help but slow down, searching my memory for the matching face.
Just as I hadn't yet confirmed who he was, the man seemed to see me too. His eyes lit up, and he enthusiastically greeted me first, then started jogging toward me with the dog.
"Morning."
In those few seconds as he jogged toward me, my gaze was irresistibly pulled downward by some mysterious gravity.
The man was wearing loose gray cotton shorts. Due to the physical jostling of running, beneath those shorts was an astonishingly large, thick, long outline swinging heavily left and right with each step! The protruding shape and weight were so exaggerated that the loose fabric couldn't hide its shocking presence.
I involuntarily swallowed hard, my Adam's apple bobbing.
Since graduation, the heavy financial pressure had practically castrated me. Every day was just work and streaming—I had no mind or time to properly release my physiological needs. Now that life had finally slowed down and my pockets were fuller, that long-suppressed youthful desire was constantly stirring within me.
At this moment, watching that massive thing wildly swinging beneath the gray fabric, I felt a rush of heat straight to my lower abdomen. My eyes were glued to it as it approached.
"...Out for a run?"
The voice from above startled me awake. I looked up as if waking from a dream. When I saw the man's face clearly, I almost cried out—it turned out the owner of this astonishingly large member was the general manager!
"The general manager really is huge..." I silently complained in my heart.
The general manager was now wearing a casual white T-shirt. Though he had a small belly, to me he looked tall and full of mature masculine aura.
"G... Good morning, General Manager! Do you live around here too?" I stammered in response, my eyes still unable to resist sliding downward.
"Yeah, I just moved to the neighborhood nearby recently." The general manager smiled, but as he spoke, I could feel his deep eyes unabashedly scanning me up and down.
The general manager's gaze slid from my slightly sweat-dampened neck, across my slender collarbones, down to my firm, fair legs beneath my shorts. That aggressive, beast-like gaze appraising prey was completely different from his usual store inspection demeanor. My whole body broke out in goosebumps, yet deep inside I felt an extreme thrill of excitement.
"I'll head off then. Keep it up."
Before I could figure out how to reply, the general manager suddenly smiled gently, turned with the dog, and continued his walk.
Watching the back view of that gray shorts with its slight swaying gradually recede, an intense sense of loss welled up in my heart. The ignited desire burned fiercely within me—I had no mind to keep running.
So I almost sprinted back to my rental. The moment I closed the door, I impatiently stripped naked and threw myself onto the bed. My mind was filled with the huge outline of the general manager's member beneath his shorts. Panting heavily, I urgently stroked myself. After finishing, I cleaned up weakly and prepared to head out for work in the afternoon.
Days passed one after another.
In the virtual world, that mysterious "top donor" still occasionally dropped large donations without warning during my streams. Due to his long-term financial support and companionship, it was only natural that we exchanged private contact information and began interacting on messaging apps.
I had actually brought it up a few times in chat: "Big shot, thank you so much for your continued support. Without you, I couldn't have afforded such good equipment. If you have time, I'd like to treat you to a meal in person as thanks. Is that okay?"
But every time, the other party would reply: 'Haha, no need. I'm usually busy with work. Just stream well and keep me company with your voice—that's enough.' Politely declining with various excuses.
Though I found this big shot somewhat mysterious and even a bit strange, since he said it wasn't necessary, as a streamer there was no need to push too hard. I could only repay him by putting in extra effort during streams.
Anyway, this was fine too.
During this time, my private encounters with the general manager in the park also became more frequent.
Sometimes it was during morning runs when he was walking his dog; sometimes during evening walks when we happened to meet while he walked his dog. We gradually became familiar, and our conversations extended from work to personal life. Every time I stood beside the general manager chatting, my gaze would inevitably, as if possessed, drift toward his crotch. My mind wildly imagined the real shape and temperature of that massive rod beneath the fabric.
But as time passed, the torment of seeing but not being able to touch was driving me crazy. After each encounter, I couldn't stop thinking about it, so today during another evening encounter while chatting about a recently popular horror movie, I gathered all my courage and looked at the general manager with a hint of seduction in my eyes:
"General Manager... that movie really seems thrilling. My rental happens to have a subscription to that streaming platform. Tonight... want to come over for a drink and watch a movie together?"
Faced with such an obvious adult hint, the general manager clearly paused for a moment. A trace of surprise flashed in his ordinary eyes, then he stared at me deeply for several seconds before smiling and nodding: "Sure, how about around 10 PM?"
After we set the time, I rushed home with a pounding heart to prepare.
With over an hour left before the agreed time, I thought I could do a regular short ASMR stream before the manager arrived—killing time and earning some extra money.
So I skillfully turned on the computer, connected my streaming smartphone via data cable, and set it up in front as the dedicated camera for detecting facial Live2D movements. Because high-end motion capture consumes a lot of power and easily overheats the phone, I usually kept it in auto screen-off power-saving mode, letting it silently run the capture function in the background. Anyway, all chat messages and stream visuals I could just watch on the big computer monitor.
The stream went smoothly, the chat as lively as ever.
However, what made me a bit anxious was that the top donor who usually appeared punctually and even regularly donated was nowhere to be seen tonight. Looking at the gray name at the top of the leaderboard, I suddenly felt distracted, thinking, "Maybe the big shot switched to supporting other new Vtubers? Or got tired of my voice?"
Due to psychological anxiety, my voice acting showed minor flaws. Chat fans keenly noticed and asked:
'What's wrong today? Seem a bit tired?'
'Bad mood?'
"Mm~ I'm fine." I replied with my signature smile and voice.
Just then, a clear doorbell rang from outside—【Ding dong.】
My heart jumped. I had been so focused on streaming that I hadn't noticed the time. Checking the clock, it was already 10:05. How had time passed so quickly?
I hurriedly said goodbye into the microphone: "That's all for today then. Thanks for keeping me company. Good night everyone—" Then, in a panic, I stood up while controlling the mouse to click the stop stream button. But in my extreme haste, my toe accidentally kicked the router's power strip switch!
**【Click.】**
With a crisp sound, the router's power light instantly went out. The entire room's Wi-Fi disconnected. The stream webpage on my computer screen froze, then displayed a large "Connection lost / Network error" message.
At the same time, the doorbell outside rang again, more urgently.
"Crap..." I panicked. Just as I was about to open the door, I suddenly thought, "Better not let the general manager know I'm a Vtuber." Looking at the screen showing "Connection lost / Network error,"
"Good, this should show as offline." So I directly reached out and pressed the computer monitor's power button to turn it off.
【Ding dong.】
"Coming, sorry for the wait." I quickly walked toward the door.